


Without A Catch

by justintrudeaucalendar



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Brief mention of Bato/Hakoda (if you squint), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Parental Hakoda (Avatar), Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Zuko (Avatar) Gets a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko Doesn't Understand Genuine Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justintrudeaucalendar/pseuds/justintrudeaucalendar
Summary: Affection was a debt to be repaid. Touch and praise, as Zuko had come to know them, always came with a catch. The only person who never expected anything from him, who never treated affection as a transactional gesture, was Uncle.Where Uncle gave, and gave, and gave- practically bled unconditional love and affection- other men had taken.(Or, Zuko spent his whole life being taken advantage of and doesn’t understand that you should never have to exchange favors for mercy or affection. Hakoda is the first to attempt to right sixteen years of others' wrongdoings.)
Relationships: Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & A Responsible Adult
Comments: 58
Kudos: 1102
Collections: A:tla, avatar tingz





	Without A Catch

**Author's Note:**

> be sure to double check the tags!  
> there is no explicit description of any abuse against Zuko, nor is there anything explicit in his interaction with Hakoda, but i've been a little heavy handed with my rating/tags because better safe than sorry!  
>   
> i've included spoilers in the end notes to help clarify the tags

Every time Hakoda’s eyes turned upon him, Zuko’s heart seized in his chest. The expectation- something unspoken and deeply unsettling- in his eyes had Zuko on edge.

The entire ride back to the Western Air Temple, Zuko had made himself scarce to avoid those eyes. There was intensity behind them told every last instinct Zuko had that he needed to run. So, that’s exactly what he’d done. His instincts didn’t have a flawless track record when it came to accuracy, but Zuko trusted them more than he trusted whatever emotion Hakoda kept eyeing him with. 

Safely returned to the Air temple, they all sat around the campfire now, shadows elongated by the setting sun with their new and improved war balloon docked just down the way, swaying on the evening breeze. 

It had been Haru’s night to cook, and while it was the same meal of congee as usual, tonight it was paired with some ginger root and various nuts that he and The Duke had found while exploring. As they all ate, light conversation filled the silence between cracks of the fire. Zuko found he was grateful to be sitting between Aang and Toph again as they quipped back and forth. 

In all honesty, he hadn’t expected to make it out of Boiling Rock alive. Zuko took comfort in listening to Aang’s stories of his time at the temple in its prime, and the others’ discussion of their exploration- interrupted by Toph cracking jokes. Their continuous laughter surrounding him offered Zuko momentary relief from the heavy, sweeping gaze of Hakoda. 

Katara and Sokka sat on either side of their father, both seeming oblivious to the expression he wore. 

Zuko’s appetite failed him as he processed that. Surely, they just weren't looking? The only other reason he believed they wouldn’t be alarmed by such a blatant expression of what was to come would be that they knew. But the way Sokka spoke of his father? How Katara’s loyalty had never once wavered? 

Zuko physically shook his head, as if it would clear that train of thought from his mind. Sokka had spent every day Zuko's known him (albeit it hadn’t even been a week yet) talking about how great his dad was. He looked far too at peace, smiling back at his father’s expression of fondness. How could he stand it? 

Zuko realized with the urge to uneat dinner, perhaps Sokka and Katara accepted their father’s praises so freely because they had yet to discover what that telltale smile would later entail. He supposed, since their father had been away, fighting in the war, perhaps they'd been spared the cost of his affection.

As he stared into his bowl, Zuko came to a sudden conclusion. 

He wouldn’t let either of them pay the price for their father’s attention. If Katara and Sokka didn’t yet know the cost of their father’s “ _I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, Sokka”_ or the lingering hand on Katara’s shoulder- Zuko didn’t want them to discover it. Not tonight at least, not while Zuko was here and he knew. He could stop it. Sokka had welcomed him into the group, surely the least Zuko could do to repay him was save him and his sister the burden of offering gratitude for his father’s performative kindness. 

Resignation fell over Zuko, heavy as a soaked, woolen blanket. He no longer heard words being spoken, only picking up on the occasional shift in tone. He shoveled bite after bite of rice into his mouth, tasting nothing. He upturned the corners of his mouth when he thought the tone of conversation deemed appropriate, but he was beyond his body. 

As dinner came to an end, and the sun took its final bow beneath the horizon, folks began to turn in one by one. Weary from a day of reunion and excitement, most everyone had turned in for the night aside from Zuko, Toph, and Hakoda and his children- Katara and Sokka were seemingly desperate to enjoy as much time as they could with their father. Conversation had begun to die out, and the uninterrupted crackle of the flames settling into embers were the only thing grounding Zuko. 

He focused on their heat, the dancing flickers of warmth as they faded into smoldering ashes, and allowed his element to reunite him with the present moment.

Zuko watched Hakoda wrap an arm around each of his children- his heart clenched for a moment. Based on the frown Toph sent in his general direction- he assumed his anxiety must be palpable to her. But if it was, she elected not to mention it, instead she announced her exhaustion, and was off to bed. As Toph retreated, Hakoda muttered of how late it had gotten, urging his children to get some rest. 

Both complained, but were quelled by kisses to the tops of their heads as Hakoda released them from his embrace. Zuko’s gut twisted as he watched both them wander out of the fire’s dim light to their sleeping mats. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda’s voice broke through any shred of calm the fire had manifested within him, adrenaline flooded his body. “I wanted to thank you.”

“There’s really, um, no need, sir.” Zuko mumbled, clasping his hands to keep them from shaking. He shouldn't be so unsettled, he’d done this countless times before. Sure it had been three years, but he still knew this song and dance, the expectations of men. Even so, he couldn’t help but wish that Hakoda would just get it over with, every moment he made no movement towards him, Zuko’s panic built. Zuko took a deep breath, before he continued. “I should be thanking you, if anything, Chief Hakoda.”

Something akin to confusion came over the older man’s face, and panic briefly hooked its claws into Zuko’s heart. He was quick to clamp down on the fear. Hakoda hadn’t looked cross, merely unsure. Maybe cultural differences were at play here? In the Southern Water Tribe, perhaps he was meant to approach the elder to offer himself rather than wait for the man to simply take what he wanted? 

“Why should you be thanking me?” The Chief eyed Zuko warily, Zuko knew that to be an unspoken challenge. 

This, Zuko thought he could cater to. Hakoda must want him to humble himself, to take on a subservient role, return his praises. 

“Well, sir, you’ve been exceptionally gracious. Both to me, and to my friends,” Zuko stood, crossing the circle to kneel at Hakoda’s feet, the fire now barely warm against his back. “I’d like to thank you for your benevolence, and I’d like to extend my gratitude on Sokka and Katara’s behalf.”

Hakoda began to speak, but before he could, Zuko had risen from where he knelt. 

He quickly straddled the Chief’s lap, pressing his lips to Hakoda’s in a harsh kiss, one hand grasping a fistful of the older man’s tunic, the other slipping lower to-

The warmth of another body beneath him disappeared, replaced by cold stone and empty space. 

It took Zuko a moment to process. Hakoda had thrown him to the ground. 

Zuko rose to his knees. This was more familiar. He understood force.

As he lifted his head he expected to find Hakoda waiting impatiently. 

What he found was far more jarring. Hakoda stood a good four paces back from where he’d been seated, wearing a look of disgust. 

_Oh_ , perhaps it was the thanks that Katara could offer that he sought? Zuko spoke up, bowing as he did so.

“Sir, I apologize.” He remained in a slight bow, keeping his back straight and listening keenly for approaching footsteps. His next words came from memory. “My body may not be as you wish, but I offer it to you. May it be a demonstration of my utmost gratitude, in every way it might still please you.”

There was a pause. The fire crackled quietly behind Zuko. Its soft sound was somehow deafening as he awaited the shift of loose stone and grit beneath Hakoda’s shoes. 

He briefly worried that he had misspoken. Surely, Hakoda understood what he could offer? 

Footsteps drew near to him and Zuko tried not to flinch as Hakoda came to stand before him. He expected to be kicked, or perhaps suffer a blow to the head, as punishment for what he could not give. 

What he had not anticipated was for Hakoda to come to his knees, sitting back on his haunches and lock eyes with him. He looked into Zuko’s eyes, something dark etched into his face. 

“Zuko, no.” It was barely a whisper.

Zuko’s eyebrow furrowed, an up-welling of emotions must have played across his face.

“Please, Chief Hakoda, sir, let me repay your kindness on Katara’s behalf,” His voice cracked, but Zuko continued, even as fear and confusion bled into his words, he bowed once again. “I- I know I’m not a girl, but I can still-”

“No.” Sharper this time, his tone was commanding, finally more fit for a man of his political standing.

On instinct, Zuko’s mouth snapped shut. He kept his eyes downcast, refusing to make eye contact lest he give Hakoda another reason to punish him. 

As he knelt, Zuko focused on the sharp pain of gravel wedged beneath his shins. Pain offered an escape from the stillness, a distraction from the unsettling silence of Hakoda crouching before him, like a viper lying in wait. 

Hakoda’s gaze weighed upon him and Zuko couldn’t understand why he hadn’t moved to strike him, to use him- anything. Perhaps this was a part of it? Did Hakoda want to observe how the fear wracked Zuko’s body in waves of adrenaline with every minute shift of his weight.

Zuko preferred pain to anticipation, his nerves were already shot. Please, couldn’t he just get it over with. He was exhausted and overexerted, still shaking from the rush of escaping prison and a terrifying brush with Azula. Did watching Zuko startle with every crackle of the long forgotten campfire offer him additional thrill in the chase? Zuko didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t he just lunge for what he wanted?

  
  


Finally, the moment broke. Hakoda once again took Zuko’s chin in his strong grip. 

Zuko’s jaw went slack instinctively. Hakoda’s hand released the pressure immediately, falling to his side. 

What could he possibly have done wrong now? Had the chief not wanted his mouth after all? 

With a deep breath, Zuko took a calculated risk and spoke.

“Sir, I am at your service and indebted to you. I ask that you please take as-”

“Zuko.”

Taking it as a reprimand, Zuko bowed. His back remained ramrod straight, his hair hanging down around his face, nearly low enough to brush against the ground.

“Zuko, sit up.”

Fear proved a strong motivator, and Zuko automatically complied, expecting that Hakoda would finally stop toying with him.

Zuko resisted the urge to allow his face to scrunch up or give away his confusion. 

The telltale stirrings of hunger, or something worse, were nowhere to be found in Hakoda- not lingering in his eyes or poorly hidden in the folds of his prison garb. Instead, he found the older man’s face had softened- and there were tears welling in his eyes? 

“Zuko, you don’t have to…” Hakoda paused, carefully selecting his words. “You do not have a debt to repay, kindness is not something you have to work to earn. It is not something you should have ever had to exchange your body for.”

When Zuko opened his mouth to refute this, Hakoda leveled his gaze. Zuko remained silent.

“It’s not my place to speculate, but I’ve heard rumors amongst the men at every port we visit- of what the Fire Nation has done.” Zuko swallowed, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat which had taken to choking him. Hakoda seemed to have heard this, and he paused again as if he was recalculating his trajectory in the conversation.

“Whoever taught you that you had to offer up your body in order to receive affection is wrong, Zuko.” 

The fire snapped behind them, ashen logs shifting against each other filled the silence. His eyes bore straight through Hakoda’s open, far too honest expression, settling somewhere far beyond where his line of sight ended. 

“How can you say…” Zuko’s voice failed him, but Hakoda didn’t falter.

“That isn’t the price of love, Zuko. There’s no excuse, no one should have forced themselves upon you. You didn’t deserve that treatment, you’re just a boy.” 

“But-” The word sounded broken, and Zuko didn’t know when he’d started to cry but teardrops were falling upon his hands where they sat folded in his lap.

“Zuko, you could never do anything that would have justified the actions taken against you.”

Zuko could no longer fight back, tears fell without regard for his effort to remain stoic. 

“May I hug you, Zuko?” Hakoda’s words were spoken so gently, a near whisper.

Despite the image of strength he tried to maintain, Zuko was betrayed by his own body as he found himself nodding.

Slowly, Hakoda’s arms raised, never reaching above his waist, to avoid startling Zuko. 

Alarm sirens were sounding somewhere in the back of Zuko’s mind, but he was cold and scared, and he'd been alone for what felt to be a lifetime. He missed Uncle so desperately and this time when he looked into Hakoda’s eyes, he found the same warmth he recognized in Uncle’s. 

Exhaustion sided with the part of Zuko which desperately longed for the comfort Iroh would have offered, and he found himself falling into Hakoda’s open arms. His body remained rigid, shoulders up around his ears, arms pinned at his sides, but then Hakoda’s arms came to rest just barely against his back, a warm hand running up and down his upper back, diligently never straying below his ribcage. 

His head fell against Hakoda’s chest and he could feel his heart beating steadily. It reminded Zuko of all the time his mother had gathered him up in her arms when he was young, letting him cry, scream, and fall apart until he felt alright again.

And so, he did just that.

\---

Zuko slumped against Hakoda, no longer attempting to muffle his hiccuping sobs, which quickly devolved into near silent screams, interrupted by choked dry heaving.

Haunting- it was the only word Hakoda could think to describe the sounds which left Zuko's body. Had he not been securely holding the source to his chest, Hakoda might have mistaken the sounds for those of a tortured man. Then, for an awful moment, he considered how frequently and forcefully, how painfully Zuko must have been coerced into believing this. It had been often enough to genuinely convince Zuko that sex and affection were interchangeable, that one should be exchanged in order to receive the other. 

Bile rose in his throat. Zuko sounded as if he were a tortured man because these _were_ the cries of a tortured man-

No, a tortured _boy_.

This was a child who laid across his legs, curled in on himself, clinging to him as if he'd been thrown overboard and Hakoda served as the only line preventing him from being left at the mercy of an unforgiving sea. All he could do to keep Zuko from slipping right out of his arms was hold him tighter. And Zuko’s tears began to soak his shirt, but Hakoda couldn’t let go, not when this child could hardly breathe from the force with which he cried. 

From the corner of his eye, Hakoda could see Katara now sat propped up in her bed roll, her curious attention had fallen upon where he sat on the ground, Zuko piled atop his legs, clinging to him as he desperately fought for air. 

He gave a minute shake of his head, furrowed his brow, hoping she’d understand this was certainly not a scene for prying eyes. 

This was the beginning of years of manipulation and cruelty unraveling at the seams, it was the breaking point of a young man who’d seen kindness only in glimpses- only for it to be ripped away, alongside his innocence. 

Zuko and Sokka held less than a year between them in age, how could a father allow his son to fall victim to such pain? How could he encourage this, inflict this much damage upon his own child? To the point Zuko believed being treated with decency required that he resign himself to rape?

Hakoda’s arms tightened around Zuko as one of Zuko’s hands grasped at his shirt, balling it into a fist. This pulled the rough fabric taunt against the back of Hakoda’s neck, but he made no movement to alleviate his discomfort. Surely, he could endure a brief moment of pain so that Zuko might grieve sixteen years of agony. 

The boy in his arms continued to shake with the force of his tears, on the verge of what felt like hyperventilation. Hakoda took a controlled, deep breath in, holding it for a moment and then releasing it just as slowly. As Zuko continued to struggle to breathe, Hakoda found himself quietly coaxing him to follow the rise and fall of his own breath. 

Several minutes passed, perhaps an hour, but by the time the fire had extinguished itself- only living on through the heat of red-orange embers- Zuko’s breathing had fallen into a semi-regular pattern.

Tears still seeped through Hakoda’s shirt, but Zuko no longer seemed to fight for each breath. His grip on Hakoda’s shirt had also loosened, and from what he could see of the boy’s face, it appeared his eyes were closed, as if he might have cried until exhaustion overtook him. 

Hakoda continued to run a hand across ribs that were far too palpable through Zuko’s shirt, and he found himself humming. The tune carried from a familiar working song into the lullaby he’d sung to Sokka and Katara in the months after Kya’s death, when neither had been able to sleep through the night without being plagued by nightmares. 

Quiet and sorrowful, the song seemed quite fitting, and Hakoda couldn’t help the few stray tears which fell as he hummed verse after verse. 

The horrors of war knew no bounds, this truth he’d always known, but Hakoda had clung to hope that perhaps not every man, woman and child must confront this conclusion firsthand. Perhaps, somewhere deep within the Fire Nation, Ozai had found it in his cold heart to care for something beyond power, beyond his own choking grasp upon nations.

As he held the son of the Fire Lord in his arms, held his scarred face against his chest, felt his tears dry against his skin, and took up a single straw from all the burdens Zuko had been saddled with, that hope died. 

Spirits above, good had abandoned the world. For every tear that fell for all Hakoda had ever felt cheated of, three more fell for all he could imagine this child, hardly older than his own, had borne witness to. Staring into the night sky, Hakoda wished for Bato to be at his side, to offer some source of external reassurance, to supplement his hope for the world, his faith in the spirits which guided them. 

Holding Zuko as his tears lulled him to sleep had obliterated the last of Hakoda’s belief that Tui and La, that all the spirits at large, were on their side.

Glaring up at the moon, Hakoda said a bitter prayer for guidance.

**Author's Note:**

> For a little background, the premise of this is that Zuko was sexually abused by his father's advisors. Their praise/approval was only offered as a means to coerce him into enduring the abuse and conditioning him to acquiesce.  
> Because of this, Zuko (for good reason) doesn't trust grown men and sees Hakoda being a good dad post-Boiling Rock (aka praising his kids and being generally affectionate) and he thinks Hakoda, like Ozai’s advisors, is going to expect his kindness to be repaid. He believes Katara and Sokka must be oblivious this and decides he won't let them discover the price of praise if they don't already know it. But, when he tries to offer himself in their stead and attempts to initiate what it is he believes Hakoda expects of him, Hakoda is understandably like 'What?' and ends up comforting Zuko while he breaks down.
> 
> I'm sorry and thank you for indulging me in my personal catharsis via Zuko


End file.
